


Boundaries

by LoveChilde



Series: White Collar series [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: But Only Sorta, But only mostly, Discipline, Don't Try This At Home, Friendship, Gen, Not entirely SSC, Peter overthinking again, Pizza, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Self-Destruction, Spanking, Testing Boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 10:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: Two weeks after the events of Enough, Neal pushes the envelope. With El away, will Peter push back too hard?





	

Peter really had been wildly optimistic, giving Neal six weeks; Neal didn’t make it to a full two weeks between the first time Peter had to discipline him and the next time he did something bad enough to warrant another round. 

For the first few days after Peter spanked him, Neal had been on his best behavior. Subdued, for the first day or two, when Peter figured he still had a hard time sitting down, but after that returned to his normal confident self, only more inclined to listen and obey. Peter stifled the guilt that tried to raise its head about getting Neal to cooperate through corporal punishment, which put them both at risk, and took the quiet while he could get it. He knew it wouldn’t last- but he honestly expected Neal to last longer. 

It was a small thing, something that normally wouldn’t have even gotten mentioned in the case report, except that Peter had noticed it immediately before the guns appeared- which made his heart stick high in his throat until the point where Neal had talked the people with the guns into putting them away, and gave the agreed signal for the strike team to sweep in. After that, all the guns on the scene were friendly, as far as Peter knew- but Neal was still not wearing a bulletproof vest like he’d been ordered to, and any stray bullet could suddenly become very unfriendly, so Peter’s stress levels didn’t go down much.

Two things made it worse- one, it was a Thursday, and two, El was away until Monday on a conference in Atlanta. There was a third thing as well- the fact that Neal didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong.

“What?” Blue eyes, widened innocently, stared at Peter when he hit the elevator button to stop it just after the second floor. Peter grit his teeth and counted to ten before answering.

“You know exactly what, Caffrey.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask, so obviously I don’t know. Is something wrong?” 

Peter counted to ten again, slowly, and replied, just as slowly, “You went out there without your vest.” 

Neal gaped for a second, before his surprise turned into a chuckle. “ _That’s_ your problem? Really? Peter, that’s-”

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t..” Peter cut him off. Neal’s dismissive attitude was making him angrier by the second. “I told you to wear a vest going in there, and you didn’t. End of story.”

“They’d have noticed I had it on under my jacket,” Neal argued, “If you noticed I wasn’t wearing it, looking from a distance, they’d definitely have noticed it from up close. It would’ve tipped them off that I was expecting trouble. The whole point of going in there was to lull them into a sense of security.” 

“These were all things you could have pointed out before you went in.” Peter made a very real effort to stay calm and discuss this rationally. He knew he might be overreacting, but Neal’s disregard for his own safety infuriated him for some reason. “We could have discussed it. Instead, you nodded and said sure, you’ll wear a vest, and then _you didn’t_. You disobeyed a direct order. You could’ve caught a stray bullet, and that would’ve been it.” There had been far too many guns at that meeting for anybody’s comfort. 

“But I didn’t.” Neal replied, slow and measured like he was trying to calm Peter down. It had the exact opposite effect.

“The end result doesn’t matter even a little bit, Neal! I gave you an order, you disobeyed. End of story. And disobedience has consequences.” He stressed the last word meaningfully, and it had the desired impact as Neal blinked.

“For _that_? Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“No, and that worries me.” 

“It should.” Peter nodded shortly, “I warned you the first time that if there was a second time, it’d be longer and harder. I honestly thought it’d take you longer than two weeks, Neal.” He couldn’t help showing how disappointed he was, and Neal frowned. 

“You’re the one who decided I need consequences, you’re the one who can decide to let it go, if doing it twice in two weeks bothers you. You won’t hear me complaining if you change your mind, believe me.” He seemed more irritated than actually concerned, which only annoyed Peter further. 

“I won’t change my mind. You knew when you went in that you were disobeying an order and that I would react exactly the way I’m reacting now, and you still did it. Therefore, you’ll accept the consequences.” 

Neal shrugged with apparently lack of concern. “Fine. Tonight? Because it’s Thursday. And El’s-” he paused, his eyebrows expressive.

“It is,” And obviously Neal was aware of that, and of the fact that El wasn’t around- which made Peter pause, and think, and grit his teeth against a new flare of anger. “Neal- did the fact that it’s Thursday and El’s not home factor into your decision to disobey me?”

Neal looked thoughtful, and Peter couldn’t tell whether he was actually thinking or just making a show of it. “I was aware of both things.” He replied eventually, tilting his head slightly. “But I would have done it regardless. I’ve explained my reasons and I stand by them.” 

That didn’t make things any better. “Alright. Tomorrow, after work.”

That seemed to catch Neal truly off-guard for maybe the first time since the conversation had started. “Tomorrow? But-”

“But nothing. We’ve both had a long day and we’re looking at a longer evening. There’ll be a mountain of paperwork to fill out. Tomorrow.”

“Peter-” There was a note of - not quite impatience, but a definite sulkiness- in Neal’s voice. 

“Nope, not a word. You don’t dictate the terms of this arrangement, Neal. Try to argue again and you’ll spend tomorrow cuffed to your desk.” Peter didn’t quite know why he was so furious, but he was, and everything Neal did only made him angrier. “Get out of my sight. And put even a toe out of line between now and tomorrow evening, and you’ll regret it for a long time. Clear?”

Neal nodded, tight and angry as well now. Peter saw him visibly swallow his anger and change the set of his shoulders as he left Peter’s office, back to his normal, carefree mask for the others. Peter took a deep breath and forced his own shoulders to relax. He’d call El tonight, after he was done with paperwork, and hopefully by the next day they’d all be calmer and he’d get things over with quickly and firmly. 

***

By Friday afternoon, Peter was downright livid. He’d spoken to El, vented his irritation for a good half hour, allowed her to calm him down some, and made up a plan of action that helped him feel more secure in his decision. In general, talking to El had made him feel better- but that lasted exactly until he got to the office the next morning. 

He’d gotten a terse text from Neal saying he’d come in on his own and didn’t need a ride, and indeed when Peter got in Neal was already at his desk, absorbed in work. He barely acknowledged Peter’s ‘good morning’, and didn’t look up from the case he was studying. Peter decided not to make a big deal about it- he had work of his own, after all. 

However, as the morning progressed it became clear that Neal’s idea of not putting a toe out of line consisted of sitting still at his desk, reading cold cases, not speaking to anybody, and speaking to Peter only once, to ask if he could use the bathroom. He returned greetings from the rest of the team with cool, indifferent politeness, and didn’t even leave his desk to get coffee. Peter tried to give him the benefit of doubt and stopped by his desk to ask him to join them for lunch, but Neal shook his head, indicated an apple on his desk, and turned a page without looking up. Peter almost ordered him to stop working and come to lunch, but decided that he didn’t feel up to dealing with Neal in a sulk on top of everything else. 

Instead of forcing a conversation, he watched Neal. Watched him wave off casual conversation, somehow without seeming to be rude to anyone. Watched as Diana and Clinton came, separately, to ask him if he knew what was up with Neal being so quiet. Unlike Neal, Peter didn’t quite manage not being rude about saying Neal’s business was his own and if they wanted explanations they should ask him directly. Peter forced himself to concentrate on his own work, and went into a three hour long interdepartmental meeting around 3 pm that dragged on until after six, with all the politics, petty sniping and budget arguments involved. By the time that ended, Peter was more than ready for the weekend. He wanted to get Neal’s punishment over with and put the whole thing behind them. 

But no, he had things to wrap up before he could call it a week. Neal was still sitting quietly at his desk, apparently working, surrounded by a slowly emptying bullpen as the others all headed home. Peter growled quietly to himself, erased a text message to El without sending it because he could deal with this _on his own_ , and pushed through the last of the things that required his urgent attention. It was well after seven when he finally felt comfortable with going home, and he was a little hungry and a lot tired. And Neal was still at his desk, turning pages over and making neat notes. That he seemed so calm and collected only made Peter more annoyed.

He buzzed down to Neal’s desk from his office. “Be ready to leave in two minutes.”

“Okay.” He could see Neal start to pack things up for the weekend, and did the same himself. Two and a half minutes later they were both on their way down. Peter decided to make an effort to be nice and accommodating and maybe open some kind of communication between them again. 

“Want to stop for food somewhere?” Neal had skipped lunch, after all. An apple wasn’t really enough to go on for a full day. But Neal shook his head.

“I’d rather get it over with, if it’s all the same to you.” He sounded neutral, but Peter could hear the underlying tension. Neal hated having to wait and not know what was coming; in fact, making him wait was part of the punishment. 

“Fine, we’ll get it over with. But then we’ll eat.” Somehow it sounded even to Peter like a threat more than a promise. Peter was tempted to force the issue, but had to concede that he wanted to get it over with, himself. That Neal was right about it added to his irritation; at this point, he suspected there was little Neal could do that he wouldn’t find irritating, which meant that getting it over with would be the best idea. 

They were silent, tense, for the rest of the drive. Traffic, unusually heavy, did nothing to improve Peter’s mood, and the silence was getting to him a little. He kept looking at Neal out of the corner of his eye, wondering what was going through his head, unable to get a read on him at all. That wasn’t good. 

Finally, Peter parked and they both headed towards the house. When Peter unlocked the door and Neal stopped just inside to greet Satchmo, Peter pushed him a little, not hard but insistent. 

“Upstairs, now. Strip and get yourself into position.” He didn’t want to discuss, he didn’t want to hear excuses or arguments, he wanted to do this and be done. Neal frowned for a moment, but then pursed his lips, nodded tightly and went up. Peter took a moment to pet Satchmo, because it clearly wasn’t the dog’s fault that everything sucked, and went upstairs as well. 

That Neal had obeyed his orders exactly sent a stab of guilt through Peter’s gut. Seeing him bent over the bed, wearing only his undershirt and socks, almost made Peter call the whole thing off, but he knew he had to follow through. He’d promised, and Neal had to know that Peter was serious about this, or the whole things would be useless. He’d prepared for this the previous night, and could see that Neal’s eyes were locked on the wide leather belt resting on the bed, folded, right next to his left hand. It was a belt Peter had gotten from a distant relative several years before, and had never worn since it was too thick for comfort and and too wide to fit into most belt loops on dress pants. Glossy and brown, he knew it’d make an impact Neal would carry around for a while. Maybe, just maybe, it’d be enough to get the point across.

“Peter, could we-” Neal started, rising slightly, but Peter cut him off and pushed him back down with one hand on his shoulder.

“No, we’re past that now. Now we’re at the getting it over with stage.” Peter picked up the belt and snapped it once, mostly for effect. “Stay down.” 

With no further warning, Peter raised the belt and slammed it down hard across Neal’s ass. Neal sucked in a breath through his teeth, but Peter didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath and landed another stroke, and another. There was no warm up or build up of intensity; Peter was giving it all he had, as hard as he could. He wanted this punishment to make an lasting impact, to _mean_ something. And Neal goddamn _deserved_ it, for taking stupid, careless, pointless risks. Peter brought the belt whistling down twice more, just as hard as the first three- and paused, his arm raised back for another one, when he realized something was _off_.

Peter had half expected Neal to be mostly silent, as he had been during his previous punishment, and he was, but it was a tense, brittle silence. Now that Peter looked properly, he could see that Neal wasn’t limp and relaxed as he had been the previous time but rigid, every muscle locked to hold position. Like he was once again straining not to move or make any noise- and like it was actually difficult. It was that, plus the sight of five wide stripes of pink arrayed neatly across Neal’s ass, already turning darker where the folded edge of the belt had hit, that made Peter drop the belt and step back.

“You’re still lying to me. And I’m too angry to be doing this right now.” He felt a little sick, anger immediately turning to guilt, returning to anger briefly (because _Neal_ was the one who’d screwed up, and Peter shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty), then back to guilt. “Stay here. You can get dressed.” He had no idea what to do next, but knew that keeping Neal half naked until he decided was unfair. Having given the best orders he could think of, Peter turned around and walked out. His feet carried him out to the garden without his brain being involved.

***

He was still staring blankly at the bushes ten minutes later, when Neal joined him outside. He’d put on his trousers and shirt and shoes, but not the tie, jacket or hat. It was then that Peter noticed he hadn’t put on a jacket, himself, and that it was freezing. 

“Thought I told you to stay put.” 

“I’ve been told I’m not great at following orders. I’ve a rep to keep up.” Neal stood just outside of Peter’s personal space, just close enough for comfort and far enough away for propriety and dignity. “Besides, my handler, who happens to also be my friend, is freaking out. I figure not letting him freak out alone is worth whatever consequences come my way for it.”

“Fair enough.” Peter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

The question forced Peter to focus his mind, look beyond the swirl of confusion and guilt, and verbalize what he was feeling. It wasn’t easy, but finally he narrowed it down to the main issue. “I went in too angry, and not prepared enough, and I almost went too far.” 

Neal tilted his head slightly, not quite a nod. “I was about to tell you to stop, if it’s any help.” 

Was it helpful? Only in confirming to Peter that he’d overdone it, which wasn’t helpful at all, really. Neal continued, “If I’d asked you to stop, you _would_ have stopped, Peter. And you figured it out on your own, and stopped, which is more than many people who’ve been doing this for longer can say and do. You stopped in time. That’s important.” 

“I shouldn’t have started.” But now that he’d stopped, Peter found himself at loose ends. He still thought Neal needed to be punished for disobeying and endangering himself, but wasn’t sure he could continue, now. Neal was silent, letting him think it through without prompting or offering an opinion, which Peter appreciated and resented about equally. After about a minute of silence, Neal spoke.

“I ordered pizza. Gave them your credit card.”

Peter took a moment to process this and asked, mildly, he thought, all things considered, “You realize you’re not off the hook yet, right?”

“Didn’t think I was off it. But one or both of us might want food at some point, and pizza is easy, cheap and fast. Or, well, regular pizza is cheap. I ordered from a nicer place.”

On Peter’s card. “I don’t need any more reasons to punish you, Neal.”

“Hey, this is me doing you a favor- you wouldn’t have thought about food yourself, the fridge is empty- I looked- and being hungry makes you likelier to get angry. So yeah, I’m literally looking out for my own ass, but also doing you a favor. Two birds, one phone call.” 

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.” it really was cold out, but Peter didn’t want to go in, not before he figured this out. “Why were you going to stop me?”

Neal didn’t answer immediately, and when Peter glanced at him he looked thoughtful, as if turning the question over. It was a relief that he needed time to fit the words to the events as well. Finally, he said, “Last time- you remember you made me go over why you were doing it? Several times?”

“Yeah. I didn’t do that this time.” 

“You didn’t do that this time,” Neal agreed, “And it seemed pretty important to you last time. I didn’t want to risk you having to start all over again because we’re done it wrong, or something like that.” He sounded so casual about it. “Besides, there’s only so much of your freaking out I can handle alone, and El’s away. I figure it’s better to play on the safe side.”

“We’re not _playing_.” Peter chose to focus on the final bit instead of on the truth of just how much he wished El was answering her phone. Discussing all this with Neal felt wrong somehow; like he shouldn’t be this fully aware of everything that was going through Peter’s mind, shouldn’t be this supportive and- and _fine_ with it all, when Peter wasn’t. It wasn’t fair. “This isn’t a game, Neal.”

“No, it really isn’t. Which is why it’s that much more important to be safe. I’m not disputing your authority in this, but _you_ need to know why you’re punishing me at least as much as I need to. Possibly more.”

“Why more?’ This was a conversational path Peter knew was risky, trailing the borders of what Neal wouldn’t discuss, but he went there anyway. At worst, he’d be shut down. Or possibly Neal would answer, which might be even worse.

It was. “You hold yourself to a much higher standard of fairness than I’d usually expect. From anybody. Arbitrary punishment...” He shrugged very slightly, “Been there, done that. I’m not saying I’d like it, but from anyone but you, and maybe El and Mozzie, I wouldn’t be surprised, either. I _would_ be surprised if either of them ever decided to punish me like that, though. No offense, but they’re both more subtle and more patient than you.” 

“Hey, I tracked you down for years.” Peter protested, without heat. “I’m plenty patient.” He didn’t know how to process his own reaction to Neal’s words. Again, the blind trust, the utter confidence, with the past hurt behind it, with what little he knew of Neal’s history, was almost overwhelming. The responsibility he had not to betray that trust- and how close he’d come to it, even if it would’ve only been in his own eyes. 

“When you stopped, you said that you’re too angry, and that I was still lying to you.” It was a diversionary tactic, and they were both aware of that, but Peter welcomed the slight change in topic. “How was I lying?”

“You were...off. Tuned out. Not there with me. Somehow.” It wasn’t an easy feeling to put into words, but Peter made the effort, working through it slowly, trying out different ways of saying it until he got to the most accurate way, “Like you were responding the way you thought I expected, or somebody expected, instead of naturally.” 

“What’s a natural response for someone who’s being whipped with a belt, Peter?” The question felt like a slap in the face. “Some would say the ‘natural’ reaction is to get up and walk away. Or fight back.” Neal’s voice softened slightly, possibly in response to the shock and hurt that Peter wasn’t quick enough to hide. “Peter, I’ve accepted your authority in this, and I’ve accepted that I need guidance and correction- and consequences- sometimes, and given you that power over me, which is greater than the Federal authorities gave you. You’re allowed to tell me what’s right and wrong when it comes to my actions, but you can’t police my _re_ actions. I’m not a mind reader, I don’t know what you’d consider a natural reaction to this kind of thing, and it’s not necessarily the reaction I’d consider natural. Contrary to popular belief, nature is subjective.” 

Peter took a long moment to think about this. Maybe he was being unfair to Neal, second-guessing his every reaction and word, but he couldn’t help thinking that for all his bluntness. Neal was still trying to distract him from something with the flow of words. “Why were you going to stop me?” He asked again, and Neal frowned.

“I told you why.”

“You gave one reason. Not the whole reason, am I right? The truth but not the whole truth.” _Again_ , Peter didn’t say, but allowed his tone to convey his fatigue with the ongoing verbal acrobatics. “Tell me the whole truth, Neal.” 

Neal opened his mouth, closed it, and wet his lips with a swift flick of his tongue. “What if I think hearing the whole truth would just make you angrier and also guilty and want to spare you that?”

“In that case you should definitely tell me.” Not like he could feel much worse, could he?

“I’d really rather not.” Neal’s body language backed the statement up, withdrawn and tight and unhappy, and Peter almost relented, but this was too important to let go. 

“This isn’t a question I’ll let you wriggle out of. It’s neither irrelevant nor none of my business. Please answer me, Neal.”

“Fine.” Neal’s shrug was almost defiant. “You’re right- you _were_ too angry. It felt like you were trying to hurt me. Not punish, not discipline, just hurt. There’s a difference, and that’s not what I agreed to.” 

That _did_ hurt. But Peter had to concede that it wasn’t wrong, either, at the same time that he braced not to physically flinch away from the accusation. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “I _was_ too angry. That’s why I stopped.”

“I still don’t get why.” There was a plaintive note in Neal’s voice. “I’ve gone against orders before, you don’t usually get this angry. I mean, it’s not like I-”

“So help me, if you say it’s not like you endangered the mission, I swear I’m going to kick your ass home right here and now.” Peter had no idea why this was the strongest threat he could think of, but it seemed to work, because Neal came to a screeching halt, and looked genuinely afraid for a moment. “To hell with the mission, Neal. Or rather- what was the mission, remind me? Go over the details of the plan again.” 

Neal rolled his eyes, but complied without further comment. “We’d set up the meet at the warehouse. I was supposed to go in, exchange the goods, and the team would sweep in and arrest all of us, and let me off after a while. We’ve done this a few times before, it wasn’t considered a high risk op.”

“So far so good,” Peter nodded, “the rest of it?”

“They’re a crew with a history of violence.” Now Neal sounded like a sulky student, ticking items off by rote, “So there was a chance they’d be packing heat, and you insisted on a vest for me.”

“Yes, this is where you went off-script and away from the mission plan, on your own, without telling me.” Peter was getting angry again, and he drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm. “This is the part that wasn’t in the plan- you maybe getting hurt. That’s why you were supposed to wear a vest.” 

“But how does that relate to the mission?” 

Peter believed that Neal genuinely didn’t understand, and decided that made him more sad than angry, which wasn’t a good thing, but at least ‘sad’ didn’t have him wanting to shake Neal into finally _getting it_. “The mission objectives were to get proof that those guys were fencing stolen goods, and arresting them. What’s missing from all the things we listed so far?” Neal looked blank, so Peter sighed and laid it out for him. “Acceptable losses, Neal. There weren’t any. This was supposed to be a short and simple cap to an investigation that’s been going for months, with no unnecessary injuries, and with the known risk of them getting violent accounted for, and the appropriate safety measures taken. Safety measures which you ditched on a whim.”

“It wasn’t a whim! The would’ve noticed-”

“You could’ve brought it up before we went out!” Peter was definitely probably almost yelling. “Instead, you did your own thing. You risked yourself, for no reason-”

“That’s _my_ call! _My_ life I’m risking!”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s not your call to make, Neal. Your life’s not yours to risk. Not when you’re on my team. Not when you’re a federal asset. You don’t get to make that decision; I do. That’s the part you don’t seem to get. My. Call. Not yours.” 

Neal deflated, first flushing, then going pale and thin-lipped. “So that’s it?” He almost spat, “I endangered FBI property?”

“You endangered your own goddamn life!” Again, Peter caught himself and forced himself to stop shouting. “For _no reason_ , Neal. For a cakewalk exchange, for a mundane op that’s as far from life and death as we can get. So yeah, while you’re on my team, and until you decide that your life matters, whether you risk it is my call, not yours. While you’re on my team, you’ll trust that we know what we’re doing, and you’ll do as you’re told. It’s that simple. You don’t take your own safety seriously enough to be trusted with it.”

Neal opened his mouth and closed it. Twice. The second time he seemed to notice what he was doing, and visibly pulled himself together, straightening and letting his arms, which he’d crossed defensively across his middle, hang loose at his sides. “It wasn’t supposed to matter.” He said at last, subdued.

“But it did. It does.” Things were falling into place in Peter’s head, sudden insight like a light bulb switching on, and he wasn’t sure whether Neal deserved a hug or a punch in the face. Possibly both, in whichever order. “You thought you’d disobey me in something that you didn’t expect would matter. You miscalculated.” He’d read about this, when El had dumped a bunch of web links into his email and insisted he go over them. Testing, pushing boundaries, checking for consistency and rules and responses, mapping out the extent of control and discipline. “And then you threw a day-long tantrum about miscalculating.” He felt almost triumphant, now that he could more or less understand it. 

“I did _not_.” 

Peter almost laughed, and couldn’t hold back a grin. He was a little lightheaded with relief, now that he’d figured it out. “You totally did. Absolutely. All damn day. It was infuriating.”

“I’m a grown man, Peter. I don’t throw tantrums.” Neal’s look of affront was entirely too funny and Peter bit his lip and again shoved down a laugh.

“Oh yeah? What would you call sulking at your desk all day, making a big show of being well-behaved while radiating ‘poor little me’ strongly enough that everybody asked me what was up with you? What’d you call being nothing like your usual self in silent protest of whatever you thought was unfair? It was an excellent demonstration of passive aggressive behavior, Neal.”

“Or it was me not having the faintest idea why you were so angry with me, and trying very hard not to break some other rule I hadn’t been informed of until you explained.” Peter almost believed that Neal meant that, and the fact that Neal probably really hadn’t realized it was his risking of himself that had Peter so angry made him a little sad. 

“Or it was both, because you’ve managed to go whole days without putting a toe out of line so far, and you never made a show out of it. You were trying to guilt me, or piss me off. You were trying to force my hand into changing the terms I’d set out for your discipline- into doing it earlier, or somewhere else. That’s not gonna fly, Neal. I dictate the terms here, not you.”

“I-” Neal seemed at a loss for words, and finally only shrugged, “Okay. I accept that. Can’t promise I won’t try to get out of future punishment, though.” 

“I can live with that, I think, as long as your attempts don’t involve lying to me. And I’m glad we both understand that now.” Maybe Peter himself had needed it as well, he thought; the display of Neal’s basic bag of tricks to try and manipulate the arrangement. He had no doubt that, if they were to continue, there’d be other tricks. But now he’d at least know to look out for them. “For the record, your life matters. If not to you, then it matters to me, and El, and Mozzie and June and a few other people probably. You taking that kind of a risk was never not going to piss me off and land you in hot water. Any unjustified risks you take in the future will have the same consequences, only worse. And _I_ decide what’s justified because obviously you don’t care enough to keep yourself safe.”

Neal huffed. “In our line of work, that’s going to be tricky.”

“Do you trust me to be the judge of what counts as a justified risk, and what doesn’t?” 

There was a pause before Neal answered, but as before, it wasn’t hesitation but careful consideration. After a few breaths, he nodded, silent. 

“Good. Then I think we’re set. Do you understand what you did wrong, and why your actions merit consequences?” Peter caught Neal’s eyes and held them, and Neal didn’t try to look away. 

“I do.” 

“Do you agree that I’ve the right to deliver these consequences as I see fit?”

“Are you done being too angry to see straight?”

It was a fair question, and Peter took a moment to run an internal inventory. He wasn’t used to looking at how he was feeling like this, but it was necessary. Was he still angry? Well, he still thought Neal deserved punishment, but it was no longer fueled by outright anger, or violence, or vengeance. He shook his head, “I’m done. You deserve to be punished, and I intend to punish you, and it will hurt, but I’m not furious like I was. I think we’re both safe to continue.”

“Then I agree that you have the right to punish me as you see fit. For disobeying orders, and for putting my life at risk without informing you in advance that I was planning on it.”

“Without it being _necessary_ , Neal.” Peter corrected automatically, and Neal flashed him a wry smile.

“If I’d consulted with you in advance, that might have been a discussion worth having. As it is, we have only what actually happened to go on, and the question of whether I was right or not is moot. I didn’t get shot, but I might have. And that scared you.”

Peter opened his mouth to deny it, but then decided to be honest as well. “Hell yeah. It scared the crap out of me, Neal. I could’ve watched you killed in front of my eyes. Let’s not do that again.”

“Not without it being necessary, anyway.” Neal agreed easily, but Peter could see the shadow of fear in his eyes, and he didn’t mock Peter’s admission- although that might have just been self preservation on his part.

“Come on, upstairs.” Peter made a shooing motion, urging Neal inside. Neal hung back, apparently still determined to delay the inevitable, and made a show of glancing at his watch. 

“Pizza should be here in ten minutes or so.”

“Good, then you can have corner time while I go downstairs to get it and tip the guy.” There was, perhaps, a touch of vindictiveness in Peter’s grin, but he’d been on edge all day and felt reasonably drained emotionally, and it was nice to be able to block any further attempts by Neal to get out of consequences. “Get your ass upstairs, I’m counting seconds and adding any further delays to your punishment.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” The threat got Neal moving, but he still didn’t seem afraid. That was good, Peter decided; he wanted Neal to have a healthy concern about punishment, and didn’t want him to take it lightly, but also didn’t want Neal to fear him. Punishment, sure; but not Peter himself. 

Still, by the time he got upstairs, after stopping to reassure Satchmo that his humans were, in fact, alright, Neal was back over the bed where he’d started the evening. Peter picked the belt up from where he’d left it on the floor. “Ready?”

“No.”

“I’m starting anyway.”

“I know.” Neal was braced for impact, and Peter waited until he saw him relax (focusing only on the technicalities of muscle flexing and relaxing helped reduce the awkwardness, just a bit), to pick up where he’d left off.

Once again, he didn’t bother with a warm-up. Unlike earlier, however, he was careful, measured, slower. He didn’t pull any strokes, but also didn’t put his entire body behind each one. His aim was to make sure Neal wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a few days at least, but he didn’t want to risk too much damage. He also kept a close eye on Neal’s reactions. He was as silent as before, but no longer locked in place, not as tightly-wound and strained. The belt was considerably heavier than the crop, but even so Peter didn’t really expect Neal to get very vocal or to break position. The belt painted stripe after stripe across Neal’s ass, turning it a solid dark pink. The second stroke across the top of Neal’s thighs was the first to get a muffled grunt out of him, and something in Peter relaxed a little, hearing it. Neal wasn’t on complete lockdown, and that was good enough. 

He slowed down after about five minutes, to give his shoulder a rest more than to let Neal off the hook, but he didn’t stop until the doorbell buzzed, announcing the pizza was there. Peter checked the time- just over ten minutes. “Alright, corner. Keep your hands off your ass.” 

It took Neal a moment to respond, and Peter gave him a searching look as he stood, looking for signs that it was too much, or that Neal was dissociating. Since he didn’t look glazed or spacey, Peter pushed down his worry. “You okay?”

“Under the circumstances,” Neal sounded just a little strained, somewhat breathless, “I think so.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, then.” Peter waited to make sure that Neal was in the corner, facing the wall, and then went downstairs to get the pizza. 

It smelled amazing, and Peter almost took the time to grab a slice, but decided it wouldn’t be fair to Neal, to start without him. He didn’t even have to check the toppings; he knew Neal remembered the pizza toppings of choice for everyone on the team, plus El and June (Mozzie didn’t eat Pizza, or at least said he didn’t). He took his time, putting the pizza box in the oven and turning the heat on low, both to keep it warm and to keep it out of Satchmo’s reach.

“I hope you realize this is cruel and unusual punishment, being able to smell the pizza but not eat it yet.” Neal’s voice carried down to Peter when he reached the top of the stairs, before he entered the room. Neal was still facing the corner obediently, hands at his side. His rear was a hot pink, verging on red, and Peter thought he’d need to be a little more careful, but could continue with reasonable safety. He snorted in response to Neal’s complaint.

“At least you know you’ll get to eat it, and I’m keeping it warm for us. Think, if you’d been shot, you’d be on hospital food for however long- and that’s the best case scenario. As I see it you have to reason to complain, here.” He patted Neal on the shoulder, taking the opportunity to assess his stress level superficially. “Back over the bed, break’s over.”

Neal sighed quietly, “Are you sure we have to?” He turned around and made his way across the room, and Peter almost changed his mind, but answered Neal’s question honestly.

“I’m really sure. Let’s finish this, Neal. The more you stall, the longer it’ll take. You’re doing really well so far, let’s just see it through.” Peter tried to sound reassuring, but Neal paused and looked around at him with a small frown.

“That’s...not a compliment. Or reassuring. Could we not say that again, ever?”

“Why?” Peter was sure he’d get an ‘irrelevant’ answer, but Neal actually answered this time. 

“I’m not doing this to please you, or to prove anything to myself. It’s not a challenge or a contest and there’s no reward for ‘taking it well’. Hell, you didn’t even set a penalty if I break position or make any noise. So telling me I’m doing well taking punishment without resisting, it’s even kind of...insulting, I guess? Like I should maybe resist more.”

“You shouldn’t, since we’ve agreed I’m justified in punishing you.” Peter pointed out. He didn’t _want_ Neal to resist more. “You could be flailing or yelling, guilting me into going easy on you even if it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, but that counts as lying, so I wouldn’t.” Neal was still frowning, though. “I wouldn’t want you to think you’re not being hard enough on me, though. You are.”

“I know I am.” It occurred to Peter what Neal was doing, too. “Which is why you just got an extra two minutes added to your punishment for trying to stall and buy yourself more break time by talking.” At Neal’s startled look, he added, “You _were_ trying to distract me, weren’t you?”

A beat, and then “...Maybe?”

“Two extra minutes, and get back into position or I’ll make it four.” Peter nodded towards the bed. 

“Still, don’t tell me I’m taking it well. Not a compliment.” But Neal did get back into position, so Peter made a mental note to avoid the expression in the future, and got on with the business at hand.

The first stroke made Neal hiss, as it had earlier, but he was silent for a while after that. Peter planned on ten minutes, plus the extra two, and he didn’t hurry. He focused his attention for about a dozen strokes on Neal’s sit-spot and the top of his thighs, which definitely got a response, albeit a fairly subdued one, but enough that Peter was quite sure it hurt like hell. Good. 

By the end of the ten minutes, Neal was definitely showing the strain, and Peter paused, giving him a chance to catch his breath, which was coming in tight, shallow gasps. “Only the extra two minutes now. Take a moment.”

“Get it over with.” He didn’t sound like he was about to crack, but Peter had heard Neal sound calm in tense, high-stress situation any number of times. His voice wasn’t a good indicator of his mood unless he meant it to be. Peter put a careful hand on his shoulder, feeling the subtle tremors of the muscles under his hand. 

“You don’t dictate the terms. Take. A minute.” It’d already been almost thirty seconds, just for that exchange, and Peter watched the second hand of the clock on the wall travel another half minute forward before warning, “Starting up again.” It was only fair to let Neal know the time frame. 

For the last two minutes Peter decided to try something different, and rained lighter but much faster strokes down all over Neal’s ass, up and down and across. On top of everything else, he knew that even lighter blows would get the job done, and he didn’t want to risk any real injury, after all. Even for him, the two minutes felt longer than they should have been, and he almost let Neal off with less, but he was fairly sure the younger man was counting along with the clock on the wall, and would notice if it was less than two minutes, since Peter had committed to it. Following through was important. 

Finally it was done. Peter put the belt down on the bed. “Neal? We’re done. Over and finished.”

Neal didn’t say anything, but sank to the floor, folding neatly at the knees, elbows and shoulders to come a kneeling position by the bed, his face hidden in his folded arms, resting on the bed. Peter sighed soundlessly and grabbed the blanket from the bed, draping it around Neal. “I’m going to go out of the room now, but I’m just downstairs. Take as long as you need, then get dressed and come down. Then we’ll eat.” 

True to his word, Peter actually went downstairs and didn’t stay within earshot of the guest bedroom. In the time he’d known Neal, he’d only seen him really losing control once, when the plane had exploded with Kate in it. On other occasions of anger, upset of even pain, Neal usually walked away, collected himself in private, and returned when he deemed it safe. Peter figured it was fair, and reasonably safe, to allow him the dignity of dealing with whatever he was feeling on his own terms. That Peter still had no real idea what he’d do if called upon to deal with it himself factored into that decision, but in a fairly minor way. 

After fifteen minutes, however, Peter was getting worried. He waited a couple of minutes more, weighing the potential mutual awkwardness and discomfort against the fact that Neal might be in real trouble and the potential actual damage, not only to his own pride, then braced himself and went back upstairs. Satchmo followed him, and this time Peter didn’t shoo him away. 

Neal was still on the floor, was the first thing Peter noticed- and that wasn’t good, both because the floor, even carpeted, was cold, and because Neal might’ve gotten himself into bed if he’d wanted to stay up here. Peter kicked himself mentally for not making sure Neal was coherent before he’d left, and sped up. 

“Neal? Caffrey, look at me.” He walked around, but Neal’s face was still hidden, his head resting on his arm. “If you won’t look at me, at least talk to me.”

“Is that an order?” Neal’s voice was muffled, but Peter could tell it was a little scratchy. Shit. He sighed, this time heavily enough to be audible.

“No, it’s not a damn order. Stop scaring me though, alright? And get off the floor if you can, you’ll freeze.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

Without even thinking about it, Peter pulled the blanket away and slapped the closest bit of Neal’s ass, hard. “You’re not fine now.” 

The pained whine the single slap elicited was proof enough of that. Neal shuddered, and Peter dropped the blanket back into place. “I think you’re sleeping over here tonight.” Neal just shrugged, which Peter took as consent. “Now, it’s not an order, more like I’m asking you, as a friend, to talk to me. If you need to. And note that ‘need’ is different from ‘want’.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk.” Neal sounded stubborn. 

“Fine. Don’t. You want a tissue and a glass of water?”

The response took a while, long enough that Peter thought he might not get one at all. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Peter touched Neal’s shoulder briefly on the way out, noting that he was still trembling. By the time he returned with some tissues and a glass of water from the bathroom, Satchmo had wormed his way under the blanket, and only his hind legs were showing. Neal was stroking him with one hand, his other still serving as a headrest. He used the same hand to take the glass when Peter held it out, and Peter made himself look directly at Neal when he finally raised his head to drink. To his eternal relief, there were no actual tears happening, though Neal looked pale and drawn and his eyes were definitely red around the edges. His hand was steady enough on the glass, which Peter found reassuring. He finished the water and returned his hand to Satchmo’s head. 

“I really will be fine.” He’d shifted so Peter no longer had easy access to his ass, and the blanket covered most of him now. “Few more minutes, I think.”

“Sure you don’t want to move to the bed?” 

“I tried, before. Got a bit dizzy.” Neal half-shrugged again, “Water’s helping.” 

Peter shook his head, feeling like an idiot. “Next time I’m making you eat first.”

“Won’t be a next time. And I wouldn’t have eaten.”

“Uh huh. You said that last time, too, yet here we are. I’ll reserve judgment until I see you going a full two weeks without getting into trouble, alright?” He squeezed Neal’s shoulder, and didn’t bother to argue with the latter half of the answer, which he didn’t doubt. “I’ll make you a deal, though- put some pants on, and I’ll bring the pizza up here. El won’t mind, if we clean up after.” 

“Okay.” 

The easy acquiescence was telling. That Neal didn’t even try to force himself to be alright for Peter’s sake and for his own dignity, and accepted the easy out, meant that he was more upset and wrung out than Peter had thought. In a way it made Peter feel a tiny bit better, because he was exhausted and felt emotionally wiped, and it would’ve been entirely unfair if Neal didn’t feel at least as bad.

He somehow managed to get both pizza, two plates, a bottle of juice and a couple of glasses upstairs without dropping anything, a feat made easier by the fact that Satchmo had stayed with Neal. The pizza still smelled amazing. 

Neal still had a blanket covering most of him and Satchmo pressed against him, but the pile where he’d left his clothes before was reduced to jacket, shoes and hat, so Peter guessed they were both in safer territory, as far as casual nudity and eyes where they shouldn’t be went. Neal still looked like he was tired and hurting, but at this point Peter could appreciate the fact that he could’ve probably made the effort to look perfectly calm and content, and didn’t bother with it. Not wearing a mask left him far more vulnerable than not wearing pants, and was certainly harder for him to do. 

“Let’s make like college students.” Peter settled down on the floor, ignoring the way his knees creaked in the process. 

“This is what college students do? Pizza on the floor?” Neal took one box from Peter and opened it, sniffing appreciatively. “I’m glad I was never a student, then.”

“Are you kidding? A free pass to be a slob is one of the best things about college. That and cheap booze and being away from home.” Peter was already halfway through his first slice.

“I’ve sat in on enough classes and forged enough diplomas- purely for the technical and artistic challenge of it, of course - to know I didn’t miss much.” 

They were both silent for the next few minutes, too busy eating to talk. Neal inhaled half his pizza in record time, poured two cups of juice and pushed one towards Peter, sipped his own, and huffed a breath. “Good pizza.”

“Yes it is.” Peter was almost alright with Neal having used his credit card to buy it. He’d have offered to pay anyway, after all- but it would’ve been nice to be asked. “Seriously though, no more skipping lunch to make a point, alright?”

“I wasn’t. Really, I wasn’t!” Neal protested, “I was too- on edge -” he hesitated on the words, which Peter took to mean ‘jittery and nervous’ “to eat. In the unlikely event that I do something consequence-worthy in the future-” Peter snorted and Neal shot him an irritated look, “don’t make me wait for it. I hate waiting.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy any part of it. Waiting is part of the punishment. Besides, admit that you’re glad you don’t have to go into work tomorrow.” Peter gestured with his slice of pizza, and Neal made a face.

“That’s not a bad point, I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, there won’t be a next time.”

“Let’s both believe that while we can.” Peter wondered whether Neal would now try to limit pulling dangerous stunts and going against orders to Fridays and Thursdays only, to avoid having to wait, but figured that even Neal wouldn’t be able to time himself that carefully. Besides, if it gave Peter peace and quiet the rest of the week, he’d take it. “Try not to get in trouble again for at least a week, because I will delay punishment until you’re all healed up from this round, and that’ll be a while.”

Neal pulled another face. “Tyrant.”

Peter returned the face in kind, “On your side, unlike most of my colleagues. Doing this for your own good. If the next time you’re about to walk into danger or disobey a direct order, you’ll remember how you feel now and decide not to, then it’ll have been worth it.”

“And if I remember and do it anyway?” It was a challenge, and Peter met it head on.

“Then we end up back here, every time. Every time you need a reminder, we’ll end up here.”

Neal was quiet for a moment but then nodded once, and bit into his final slice of pizza. Peter let himself relax for the first time in two days. 

“You’re still staying to sleep over.”

“I didn’t argue the first time.” Neal raised his free hand in a ‘peace’ gesture. “If you don’t need to explain to anybody what’s going on, I don’t mind staying. I’ll even cook breakfast. Or, wait, fridge is empty. I’ll let you take me to breakfast.”

“At the cafe with the hardest chairs we can find.” Peter promised, and Neal winced.

“Too soon to joke about it.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I know.” It sounded so mournful that Peter had to chuckle. They were fine, and if not, then they would be, eventually. 

He really hoped Neal would stay in line for more than two weeks this time, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that while Peter and Neal are being more or less careful, this is NOT, strictly speaking, entirely within the scope of Safe, Sane and Consensual discipline, even disregarding the fact that Neal can't give independent and informed consent. This is fic, with a given situation and characters, and is **not** a 'how to BDSM' guide. 
> 
> Also, the characters do not belong to me and no profit is being made other than my own gratification and hopefully yours, dear reader.
> 
> My eternal gratitude to [IShouldBeWriting](http://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBeWriting) for her beta and insight.


End file.
